Secrets of the Lost Summer (17 page)

His omelet arrived. It was damn near perfect and came with homemade toast and a little bowl of homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam and another little bowl of soft butter. At home on Coronado, he’d be having Cheerios and a banana.

At home on Coronado, it was five o’clock in the morning. He’d be asleep.

He decided to satisfy Olivia’s curiosity about him. “I helped Noah with people and structure so that he could focus on what he does best. We took a few risks that paid off. Yes, I’ve done well. Yes, I can afford caviar, but I don’t like it.”

“You’ve tried it, though.”

“Once. At a party in L.A.”

Olivia swiveled on her stool so that she was facing him. She had on a marine-blue corduroy shirt over cargo pants and trail shoes with wool socks. April, he thought, and still wearing wool socks. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, strands of gold-streaked dark hair falling into her face. He doubted she even noticed.

“A party for what?” she asked.

“Just a party. Noah likes parties, or he says he does.”

“He’s known for having a string of women in his life. Actresses and models and such. I read that on some gossip page on the internet.”

“Noah’s single—”

“As are you.”

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

“I don’t, but I saw a picture of Noah with a babe on his arm. I doubt she was his sister.”

“Noah’s trusting.”

“And you?”

Dylan handed her a triangle of toast. “Eat. You look hungry.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. That’s what I bring to my work with Noah—I’m pretty good at reading people.”

“You can tell I’m hungry? That’s just a lucky guess.” But she took the toast and bit right into it. “You keep unpleasant people at bay in order to let Noah focus. Is that right?”

Dylan spread another triangle of toast with the jam, the tiny chunks of strawberry and rhubarb just the right size, and grinned at her. “‘Unpleasant people.’ That’s a polite way to put it.”

“I don’t mean to be intrusive. What you do and how much you’re worth are none of my business. Did you investigate me before you came out here?”

He laughed. “I threw caution to the wind after seeing your picture and came out here without a complete dossier on you.” He was enjoying himself and couldn’t quite explain why. “How’s everything coming along for opening day at The Farm at Carriage Hill?”

“Everything’s going just fine, thanks. I don’t need you to warn me off any jerks and scumbags. That would have been handy when I was still in Boston.”

She seemed to think she’d said too much and jumped down from the stool. She started to reach for her bag, but Dylan put his hand on her arm and leaned close to her. “I’m not worth a billion, but I can afford to buy you a cup of coffee.”

“I can pay my own way.”

“You can, but sometimes you don’t have to. Sometimes you can just say thanks and let it go.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“I still want to know what happened to you.”

“I came home to Knights Bridge.”

After she left, Dylan had a refill of coffee and finished his breakfast, feeling as if he might have just landed from Mars and had nothing in common with Earth’s population. An out-of-the-way New England town, a stubborn, independent, attractive woman with secrets? What the hell was he doing here?

He drove over to Frost Millworks. Olivia’s sister, who worked in the family business, lived in the picturesque original nineteenth-century sawmill by the old dam and millpond. The Frosts had converted it into a residence. Dylan hadn’t needed to do any digging to find out that tidbit. All he’d had to do was sit at the counter at Smith’s and listen to his fellow patrons, then put the bits and pieces of different conversations together.

He entered the surprisingly modern mill building. He’d also gathered from his eavesdropping at Smith’s that Randy Frost was well liked and something of a force of nature in town. Dylan found him in the toasty warm front office, eyeing a row of photographs taped to the top edge of the rolltop desk.

“That’s Cambria,” Dylan said, pointing to one of a familiar street in the small town on California’s scenic Pacific Coast Highway. “Nice spot.”

“You’ve been to Cambria?”

“Many times.”

“They say the road can be downright scary.”

“Depends on what scares you, I guess.”

“You weren’t scared,” Randy Frost said, making it a statement.

“Nah. Are you planning a trip west?”

“My wife is. She says she wants me to go with her, but I don’t know. She’s not one to travel. She might want to slay this particular dragon on her own.” Randy pointed to a large sheet of white sketch paper on the desk. “I just unfolded this. I thought it was something work related. Louise will kill me dead if she walks in here and sees me with it, but what do you think it is?”

Dylan took a closer look. In the middle of the page was a blue dot, probably done with a crayon. It was surrounded by other crayon dots in various colors, with a few stray dots farther from the blue dot.

“It looks like dots,” he said.

“That’s what it looks like to me, too.” Randy refolded the paper and stuck it under a magazine with an enticing photograph of Malibu on the cover. “Keep your mouth shut, all right?”

No worries there, Dylan thought. “Sure.”

“Damn. What a mess. I shouldn’t have said anything, but what the hell. You didn’t come here to listen to me talk about dots. What can I do for you?”

“Just thought I’d stop by. Mind if I look around?”

“Sure. Here, I’ll go with you. Are you thinking about renovating Grace’s place?” Randy asked as he followed Dylan out to the showroom.

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Most people around here thought she wouldn’t be with us before her house had to be condemned. Kind of morbid, but that’s the truth.”

“It needs a wrecking crane. I can’t see putting any money into it.”

“You won’t get an argument from me.” Randy walked over to a large window that looked out on the stream; next to him was a display of an assortment of moldings and trim. “We like to save our old houses around here, but Grace’s house wasn’t much even when it was built. It’s gone to hell in the meantime. Have you figured out why your father bought it? Is that why you’re back here?”

“My father died before I even knew I owned a house in Knights Bridge.”

Randy grinned. “Cagey answer, McCaffrey. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

They went into a workroom, where a small crew of skilled craftsmen was getting set up for the day at their various machines. They seemed comfortable with Randy Frost, and respectful. He greeted them each by name and introduced Dylan. Most, but not all, were from Knights Bridge. Randy explained how the family sawmill had transformed into a company that provided quality custom millwork to builders, architects and homeowners, predominantly in the New England area.

“Grace Webster’s father worked at the old sawmill for a few months before he died,” Randy said as he and Dylan returned to the showroom. “I think it was his last job.”

“Does Grace have any family left in the area?”

“Not anymore, no. She’s an only child. Her mother died in childbirth. Her father and grandmother raised her. My mother remembers them. They were never the same after the state took their home for Quabbin. I was fishing a few years ago and realized my boat was right over the spot where the Websters used to live. It was downright eerie.”

“I didn’t realize fishing is allowed in Quabbin.”

“March through October. There are restricted areas but they’re clearly marked, and you can’t go out on the water unless you have a fishing license. Pleasure boats aren’t allowed. I don’t fish very often. Louise gets nervous when I go alone, and most of the time I’m too busy. Some of my buddies fish, but they’re more serious about it than I am.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever even picked up a fishing pole.”

“Gee,” Randy said with a grin, “what a surprise.”

“Did you have Grace as a teacher?”

“English my senior year. They say she’d mellowed some by then, but I’d have hated to see her when she was in her prime. She was tough. She was one of the best teachers I ever had, though.”

“She left a lot behind when she moved out of her house.”

“Shook the dust off her feet and moved on. I can admire that, but there’s not much room in her new place.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“That’s up to her.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll give my mother a call. She and Grace are tight. I’ll see what she says.”

The front door opened, and Olivia entered the showroom with two other women. Dylan immediately could see a family resemblance as Randy introduced his wife, Louise, and Jess, their younger daughter. Jess gave him a frank once-over, as though she suspected he might be an issue, if not a problem. Could she have found out he’d kissed her sister?

“Good to meet you finally,” Jess said, then headed to the workroom.

Randy motioned for Dylan to follow Olivia and her mother to the office. Dylan noticed Olivia’s expression tighten as she glanced at him, as if he were spying on her family, then turned her attention to the map of California tacked on the wall.

Louise Frost settled at her rolltop desk. She looked up at her pictures of the coastal highway. “Have you visited any of the Central Coast wineries, Dylan?” she asked.

He didn’t mention that Noah owned one. “Several. Beautiful country.”

She swiveled around to him. “Randy says you were with the NHL. We do an ice rink on the town common every winter. If you stay in Knights Bridge, maybe you can give the kids a few pointers.”

“It won’t be winter again for a while, I hope.”

Louise laughed and nodded to her husband in the doorway. “You gave Dylan a tour of the place?”

“The five-minute version,” Randy said. “He’d like to meet Grace. I thought I could run him over there and ask Ma to introduce him—”

“I can take him,” Olivia said; she turned from the map and addressed Dylan. “We can go in my car. I can drop you off back here.”

Meaning she wanted to keep an eye on him. Well, he thought, that was a two-way street. He smiled. “Sounds good.”

She led the way out to her car, not glancing back to see if he was following her. He climbed in on the passenger side. “No dog hair,” he noted.